Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1887-07-07
MASTER OF THE PEAK.

n1ngtOn,' SAID Mark HllnllmmOH, anu
don't pretend to be. Pm only back
country farmer, and my professionalism
of law-brings me but a slender income
out there. But have noble farm, and
a view of the White mountains that no
artist can paint. And I love your neice,
and she has given me reasons to hope
that in time / can win her affection, and
if you will give her to me / will do N y
best to make her happy"
'D.ar me-" said Mrs. Remington, "all
this ID very sudden"
Mrs. Remington, who was the sister of
q rich New-Yorker, had an abiding idea
that her niece Madeline ought to marry a
rich man.
"She's very handsome mentally
reasoned Mrs. Remington, "and she IS
accomplished, and she made quite SEN
sation in society this winter when she
was introduced, and if such girl as this
isn't to marry well then I don't know who
is. And the idea of this farmer fellow
coming here to put in his pretensions
when there are so many eligible young
men in society,""
eyes," said Mark, quietly, "I suppose
it seems sudden to you. All these things
do seem sudden at the last"
tI'm sure l don't know what Mr.. Vassar,
her pa, will say" said Mrs. Remington,
putting her head feebly to one side.
When Mr.. Vassar returned Madeline
told him her hearts secret at once, for
the bond of affection between this father
and daughter had always been very ten
der and close.
$50 you love him, DEAR" said Rufus
Yassar.
''Oh, yes, papa~
Enough to give up ali the fiipperies of
fashion for his sake!''.
eyes, papar' uttered the girl, wit h
emphasis.
'And to become farmers wife in the
White mountains!'
''Oh, yes,' cried Madeline earnestly.
Papa, may I write him to come"
"Not just yet, child" said Mr.. Vassar.
give got little business to transact
rp in Albany before I can consider my
self fairly settled at home. But at the
end of a couple of weeks or so"
line.
'Stop, stop, Miss Precipitancy!" cried
Mr. Vassar. II have not promised any
thing yet, either one way or the other"
''But you're going to, papa-I know
you're going to-" cried Madeline, dane
ing joyfully about.
we'll see," said Mr.. Vassar.
The great wood fires blazed up the
chimneys of Purple Peak farm. casting a
red reflection through the twilight on the
mountain roadside, when a stout, elderly
man walked up to the door and knocked
resolutely on its panels.
"Can you keepme here all night, young
man." he said 'Mr. Rist, of Portceaster,
4n Of Oft
drawn out, and [ haven't passed any
hotels"
mo, should think not" said Mark
Plinlimmon, with a CHEEKY laugh. "We
don't deal much in hotels along this road.
But you are kindly welcome to stay here
as long az you like Mr."
"Middleworth,' said the stranger.
"Rufus Middlew0rth."
And he sat down his valise and looked
around him at the dark. oiled wainscot-
ing, the ceiling traversed by monster
beams, the latticed easements, the old
oak settles on each side of the blazing
logs.
"You seem to have fine farm here,
Mr.. Plinlimmon," said he, "and finely
kept"
''It's not bad" said Mark, carelessly.
STYLE"
"Yes,' said Mark, at belongs to an old
Lincolnshire family who took fancy to
settle out here. They got to dabbling in
railroads share and failed. The daugh-
ter went back to their old friends in Eng
land, such as they lad. The father blew
his brains cut in New York. The estate
was sold at foreclosure. I bought it.
That's the history of Purple Peak farm"
One by one of the different members of
the family dropped in as he sat talking
with Mark Plinlimmon. Old Mrs. Pin
limmon was frst-a mild, white-hair ed
matron with soft, wistful eyes; then a
rosy-cheeked brace of nephews.
''Their father and mother are dead"
observed Mark, $50 l adopted them, and
fine fellows they are"
Not bad symptom" said Middle
worth Vassat to himself. "But, of course
most people are good to their own kith
and kim"
And then entered most maj este old
man, with long, white hair hanging over
his shoulders, leaning on cane.
''And this" said Mark, sis our Uncle
Joe," fastening as he spoke to set an easy
chair for the ancient patriarch. s'Uncle
Joe, this is Mr.. Middleworth, who has
come from Portcaster. / have invited
him to stay all night, if you do not OBJ
iect."
Uncle Joe waved his hand like an old
prince.
'sHe is welcome" he said, Every welcome
Mark. In fact, any friend of youls is
welcome to Purple farm" And then he
began to warm himself at the blaze and
fell into sort of a revery.
Uncle Joe, whoever he might be. was
evidently the person of most considera-
ton in the little hsusehcld. He sat at
the head of the little table and said grace
before meat, and had the warmest corner,
the easiest chair, the most tender consi-
deration; aud finally, when he trudged
upstairs to bed, Mark dutifully held the
dc Sapen for him to pass through, and